


A Flat in London is Highly Pricey

by Siconymn (regularbrit)



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Bad Writing, Dialogue Heavy, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Humour?, M/M, Masturbation, Not Following the Show, Slow Burn, Smut, Trans-Male OC, Turning Gay Trope, and they were roomates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 03:06:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19844272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regularbrit/pseuds/Siconymn
Summary: Two men decided to relinquish the possible monetary and in show bounds of owning a flat in London together...After breaking up with Angela, Oliver get’s a new roommate who tries to pull him into the world of youthful abandon. Does Alex succeed? Yes of course he does this is a fanfic on AO3.——————Everyone is OOC, I’ve actually watched the show once without really paying attention and my writing style is frantic and confusing.- Please enjoy!





	1. New Flatmate

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Transphobia and Explicit Smut.

Whilst reading a varied selection of newspapers; Which has published some rather unflattering pictures of the opposition leader struggling to get her mouth around a large Cumberland sausage below a selection of crude and probably (most certainly) sexist headlines. Oliver Reeder was interrupted from his low spirited chuckling by a sharp knock on his flat door. It surprised him enough that he paused before going over to answer it.

“Just a second!” He called through the wood as he fiddled with the keys (he should really get a new lock fitted) and felt even more confused as he opened the door to a nicely dressed shorter statured man with a friendly albeit tired expression.

“Um, hello?” Oliver ventured.

“I’m here about the ad? For a flat-mate?”  
Oliver was caught out momentarily before his brain started catching up.

“Shit. I actually, forgot.” He actually had, between breaking up with his girlfriend and the latest shit-storm political kerfuffle he had forgotten that he had put up an ad for, then accepted to meet, a new flat-mate.  
The man in question, stood before him in some straight jeans and a T-shirt at the predetermined 12:30 on Saturday, was apparently an apprentice and although earned less than Ollie claimed he ‘could cook well and wasn’t a tv hog or noisy’ which in his eyes made up for the £100 difference they would be paying on rent.

“Nah that’s alright mate, I forget shit all’time.”

Great. He was going to struggle getting over this language barrier.  
“Um, where are you from, exactly.” Oliver opened the door further and let him inside, stiflingly self conscious of the fact he had only a dressing gown on.

“Ahh- Midlands mate.” Alex tapped his nose with a grin “T’s’all you need know innit, Londoners don’t know difference!” Oliver smiled politely and nodded without understanding what the fuck he was on about.

“Okay then... I’m just going to put some clothes on, please just...”  
“I’ll be very good and sit on the sofa.” Alex laughed quietly as he was shown a seat.

While Oliver hurried himself into some appropriately casual clothing Alex observed the flat space around him. The living area was open plan as you entered from the hall (which had a door on the left and right hand side for the bed rooms) with big windows and stylish matte black blinds on the right, to the immediate left was a square block (presumably the bathroom) with a door adjacent the windows. Aligning with the bathroom block was a nice kitchen in an elongated sharp ‘C’ shape topped with black granite, which was tidy only seemingly from the lack of use (evident from take away containers near the peddle bin and no sign of advanced cooking utensils or ingredients) there was a nice looking coffee machine with a downturned mug next to it, it had pretty flower patterns on it that didn’t seem up-keeping with the rest of Oliver’s decor. 

That was largely because most of the flat had no decor, it was obvious he had picked the ‘pre-furnished’ option then not felt the need for much else. There were some photographs on the tv shelving which went between the two sets of windows, opposite that there was a flat yet comfy looking grey sofa and chair with pillows that had a horrid spotted design (with a thro to match) in between them was a glass coffee table with a bajillion to-date newspapers and a cup of coffee sat on top. Nearest to the hallway door was a bunch of brown boxes which had been neatly labelled with contents and some black bin bags. On the opposite wall was a plain desk that had filing cabinets on each side and a desk computer sitting on top with a healthy looking potted plant sitting beside it, drinking up the sun.

Alex sat down on the sofa and tried to be uninterested in the funny blowjob jokes on the covers as Oliver re-entered the room. He wore some black jeans and a checkered button down (the most causal he could get to) with the two top buttons popped. 

“Really sorry about that, um.” He postured for the man’s name. 

“Alex.” Alex said that a little condescendingly. 

“My head has been an utter mess the last few weeks.” 

“Seriously fine mate.” 

Oliver knew that this ‘average bloke’ Alex was making the motions of kindness and understanding, he just wasn’t sure wether he trusted it. 

“Coffee?” 

“Yep, two flat sugars and a milk if you please.”

Okay. He was a sensible man even with a horrible accent.

“You know, I remember when I broke with a girl I been dating a year and a half.”

Alex began with the conversation as Oliver tried to ignore the topic astutely whilst the coffee machine buzzed to life.

“It was horrible! Proper broke my heart it did, thought she was the one an all.” 

Oliver turned towards him an mimed sympathy.  
“Ah, that’s a shame.”

“A shame!” Alex began to laugh a little. “She took cocaine and slept with some guy from Magaluf!”

Oliver did find that funny and couldn’t help the grin that crept onto his face. No further conversation was pushed until he brought the coffee over, when Alex pointed out all the newspapers with inquiry. Alright, time to drop his job onto this everyday working man.

“I work in the Department of Social Affairs, for the government.” He clarified. 

Alex looked mildly interested. “Sounds not too bad, explains how you get a nice place in London.”

“You’re not going to execute me for being some tie wearing prick?”

“Oh don’t get me wrong I definitely think that, but you’re making up the hundred quid I can’t pay for rent so, you’re a good guy in my eyes.”

He was surprisingly well mannered, Oliver had experience with ‘working class’ people before but only to the extend of them punching his face in for dinner money or work sense of being ‘the public’.

“I actually like politics, in a way.” Alex postulated “It’s a sort of funny to me, and I don’t pick sides.” He shrugged.  
“Maybe that doesn’t make me an ideal flat-mate?”

‘No. That definitely makes you the perfect flat-mate’ is what Oliver wanted to say. Politics was like a big plate of chips. He liked chips, you can only eat so many, yet the potions were too big, now he was resigning to shoving the rest of the chips on the floor and letting the dog eat it. Not a perfect analogy but it was only Saturday after all.  
He actually just said “Sure.” Noncommittally, apparently he felt like some conversational hedonist today. The guy obviously picked up on his mood and made a light attempt at talking about what his apprenticeship entailed, something about fitting luxury appliances in showy London buildings. It seemed like Alex enjoyed his job, which unintentionally soured Oliver’s mood. Not to mention that Angela’s stuff was glaring at him from the corner of his vision and reminding him of 6 months of his soul wasted away on loveless manipulative sex that benefitted Malcom more than him.

Alex seemed (genuinely) shocked when Oliver showed him to (now) his room and took down a moving date for two weeks time. Not that the guy could be blamed, Oliver was being an utter arse that week.  
_______

Sometime between that day and the day Alex would move in, he called Oliver up during lunch break. At least Oliver knew he had tried to by the two missed calls he saw at 3 PM after trying to sort out a crisis involving train stations and rough sleepers that took him out of his lunch and straight into what should be considered near to the end of the day but actually wasn’t. He had walked to a nice-ish bakery and phoned Alex up whilst shoving a sausage roll into his mouth.  
“Hey Ollie, tried to catch you earlier.” He sounded a bit too chipper for this time in the day, the sausage roll muffled out Olivers’ tired growl.

“Yes, *munch munch* really fucking busy *munch munch* you don’t want to bloody know!” He then began working on his chocolate muffin as Alex spoke.

“How do you feel about, uh- alternate lifestyle choices?” Oliver’s brain (and mouth stuffed with muffin) stumbled over his question.

“What? Like-“ He stopped realising he was in public and lowered his voice. “Like religious stuff?”

“No I’m not religious.” Oliver almost said ‘Thank God’ but he knew hypocrisy when he saw it.

“I’m uh- sort of LGBT?” His usually confident voice faltered, which gave Oliver the impression that he wasn’t dealing with some ‘PC virtue signalling social justice warrior’ or whatever bullshit words were used for those types of attention seekers and the others who got easily lumped in with them. 

“This is 2018 Alex-“

“Yes I know-“ He interrupted “I’m transgender and bisexual so, you have to be comfortable with that. Like I mean for real man.” He sounded really earnest there, the guy was too damn honest for his own good.

“You’re transsexual? So you’re going to... become a woman?” Oliver had no objection to his flat mates lifestyle yet it was to left unsaid that his knowledge was sub-par. 

Alex suddenly laughed on the other side of the phone, “Fucking hell! I love that!”

“Well I-“

“No, no, no it’s fine!” He laughed again.  
“I used to be a woman. Quite a pretty one too.” Oliver could imagine him winking on the other end of the line.

“Oh, I never-“

“Don’t fucking talk ‘bout it mate, just wanted to keep you in the loop yeah?”

“Right, yes. That’s fine with me Alex but just don’t- um...”

“Don’t bring any fuck buddies to your nice London flat?”

“Yes.”

“Ah Ollie mate seriously thanks for that.” Alex breathed a sigh of relief through the speaker.

“Not a worry.” 

“Alright then ter ra!”

“Bye, bye.”

He had never been ‘ter ra-ed’ in his life.

When he was back in the department building Hugh called him into his office to work through some tedious paper work. Going against the usual ‘no personal life’ rule Hugh asked him if everything was “okay” skipping past the ‘dealing badly with missing and hating my ex-girlfriend’ part Oliver decided to tell him about his roommate and the recent phone call. 

“Oh, wow...” Hugh put his hand over his mouth as if he were actually reading the documents and not rapidly checking his brain for how to respond to Ollie’s new transsexual bisexual working class but high earning replacement roommate. 

“My daughter actually, she’s 15 so she’s making me... Watch all this stuff about liberal rights and, lecturing me whenever she has chance.”  
Oliver hummed in response. That sounded like the fucking worst.

“He probably only said it now just in case you were to bludgeon him in the middle of the night.” Hugh paused to look up at Oliver.  
“You’re not thinking of...?”

“No! What the bloody fuck Hugh.”  
“That doesn’t actually happen does it?”

“In some cases... Yes.”

“It’d be a really delicious scandal if I did though.”

“Might be why he thought it was a good idea, ‘public servants’ have to be pro-inclusion-“

“Or get their arses raped by the papers, public and every celebrity riding around on their high horse with a 12 inch strap on dildo.”

“Jesus Christ Ollie.”

“True though.” He mumbled, though that brought an end to their socialising for that evening.  
_________

Angela came to take her stuff that following weekend with one of her old roommates, Mike or Darren or some shit. The one that could never fuck off fast enough. She made scathing quips at him for not helping to move any of her stuff, mostly about his manhood and sexual proclivity, he knew that if he did ‘help’ they would end up arguing and screaming at each other because they couldn’t agree on who should do what.

Oliver wanted to say ‘you’re lucky there’s even a lift you soul sucking demoness bitch’ but decided on keeping his mouth closed and to not read the Daily Telegraph clutched between his balled up hands.

Thankfully she didn’t seem eager to stick around and within 30 minutes there was no sign she had lived there whatsoever. 

The wash of relief was quickly replaced by an undeniable horniness that had been unfamiliar to him for some time. Which was probably why his body seemed to be screaming ‘WANK NOW!’ yet he was without a sense of urgency so took about his time letting it build as he closed the blinds and found good porn to put on the tv. 

He put on some camgirl vid, she was very curvy with nice tits and he was already familiar with her ‘work’. As she began playing with herself and introducing her dildo and vibrator to the audience Oliver pressed down on his dick, which was stuck between his thigh and his fitted black jeans. He unzipped himself and pushed his boxers and jeans down his legs. She put oil onto her hands and rubbed it against her breasts firmly, then took her breast and licked her nipple whilst humming smoothly.

Ollie spat into his hand to stroke his dick calmly, feeling the tingle of arousal turn to a more solidly pleasurable sensation as he hardened against himself.

The woman lay on the bed with a soft chuckle and began swiftly fingering and rubbing herself, his movements firmed and he began flicking his thumb round the head of his cock, imaging it where her fingers were. 

Then she took the dildo and positioned herself to look as though the audience was fucking her in missionary position. The width of the fake dick was a little excessive but as his hand stroked against his cock to match her thrusts he could easily imagine fucking into her soft warm pussy. Oliver’s left hand was palming against his left thigh as his pace became more desperate.

She moved again to reach for the vibrator, as she pressed it against her clit her expression changed instantly to ecstasy, mouth agape and eyes pushed upward, he pulled on his cock frantically now as it went flush against his stomach, Ollie lay backwards and let his left hand wander under his shirt to imagine it was her, pulling him close, demanding, begging; “Yes, yes, more, more, I love your cock, you’re so big.” Oliver’s legs shook as hers spread wider, she grabbed the dildo again and fucked herself onto it desperately. At this point Ollie was gone, screwing his eyes shut and letting profanity dance across his eyes as he stroked himself to completion with a shudder (making sure to use the other hand to stop his cum getting onto his shirt).

Resting momentarily before switching to regular tv, he left himself as he was for around ten minutes into Tipping Point before feeling marginally disgusted with himself, then waddling off to the bathroom to have a shower. He felt immensely satisfied after having another wank in there, which was nothing to do with proving wrong some of Angelas more cruel taunts.


	2. Moving In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been about 14 days since last time, posting two times a month seems like a good pace for my writing (heeeehhhh). Recently ordered TToI boxset so I’ll be getting some inspiration... ;3

Frost framed the edges of Saturday morning, the sun winked at Alex as it retreated from London and raced to the other hemisphere in time for the Christmas holidays. 

He was nervous as he waited for the van to pick up his possessions from his family home. His dad had tears in his eyes and drew the young man into a tight embrace, rocking them both side to side soothingly. As they pulled away his mother handed him a small box.

“When you was, little-” She smiled and it emphasised the creases in her cheeks. “I brought a necklace for when ya left home, to remember us by, I got it changed last week, for you.” 

She was beaming now, his father reached down and held her hand lovingly. The box had smooth tortoiseshell wood, inside was plush red velvet and a black chain with a rectangular hematite gem laying on it. On the back of the gem he could see his name carved clearly. They all embraced again in the living room that he had grown up in.

“Tell me ‘bout this roommate then.” His mum battered his dad’s arm and mouthed ‘tea’ cheekily.

In truth Alex Nickleson knew very little about Oliver Reeder, he knew he wasn’t famous enough to have a Wikipedia page or any articles on him, but he did have an extremely dead Facebook page with a childhood photo as his profile picture. The posts on there were mundane and unremarkable, sometimes politics, family, or life related. His ex-girlfriend had updated their relationship status. Alex had found that this man was, remarkably boring. So absolutely perfect for Alex’s lifelong quest to corrupt every and any dull bore, for their own good, by giving them a taste of foolish abandon. 

“Oliver seems jus’ like a pretty busy guy, he works for the government and seems shit at life stuff.”

“Is he nice though, understanding? Ya did tell ‘im didn’t ya?”

“Yeah ‘course I did mum, not stupid am I?”

“Oi! Cheeky bugger.” She hit him playfully.  
“Ya know wha’ people can be like, any sign of trouble, call me first, then police.”

“Yes ma’am!” He made an impression of an American soldier.

“Yes-sir!” She did the impression back.  
_____

All the frost had melted by mid-day as soft warmth shone onto the London streets. Alex pulled out his phone he dialled Oliver’s number.

“Don’t want a repeat of last time.” He showed his mum the phone. She raised her eyebrows suggestively.  
“No!” Alex whispered back embarrassed.

The phone stopped dialling and Oliver’s voice came out of the other end;  
“Hello?”

“Hey Ollie!” Alex put him on speaker.

“Ok, you’re close by I suppose?”

“Yeah man just checking you’re awake.”

“Right yes, yes I am, ready.”

“Nice man alright see you in ten!”

“Click!”

With a puff of breath his father loudly proclaimed that this man seemed like the typical suit wearing phoney that he wanted his son to stay away from. Alex argued that he was exactly the jeans wearing queer that society wanted Oliver to stay away from. 

“Too right me boy! Get to ‘im before he gets to you!” 

_____

Oliver Reeder was wearing a similar outfit to last time, but the shirt was pinstriped white and blue. It was undeniable that the guy secretly had a little fashion sense. Obviously surprised to meet Alex’s mum and dad, he shook their hands.  
“Hello Mr. Nickleson. Hello Mrs. Nickleson.”

With a little glint in her eye his mum remarked that Oliver seemed a proper young lad, which seemed to take him off guard and blabbing silently at the unfamiliar praise. They got to moving the small load of items that Alex had decided to take with him, the van was more for show than practicality, an insistance on his dads part but highly impractical for the streets of London. Considering Oliver’s physique they politely suggested he carry the bin liner full of clothes, which he didn’t grumble about. 

“We’re on the 2nd floor.” Alex overheard Oliver inform his dad, who was holding a box of books as they got into the lift. His dad was being unsubtle when taking on his fatherly duty of investigating and questioning Oliver on all aspects of his personality.

His mum put down her bin liners with the pillows, duvet and covers to press the button for the lift. She asked if it was a three story building, he nodded;  
“You’re gonna love the interior.”

“Up to yer taste?”

He nodded again.

When inside the flat Alex stood absolutely correct as he watched his mum ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’. Although after that she began making suggestions on what was missing, paintings, kitchen utensils, microwave, kettle, coat stand, bookshelf, bar stools. He agreed humorously and suggested a trampoline or ball pit, to which she gave an exasperated sigh.  
“Fine! Fine! Ignore me suggestions! You’ll be missin’ them things before you know it! Where ya gonna even put them books?” Then she pointed at the box marked ‘books’.

Alex shrugged. “Floor?”

She walked up to him worriedly and gripped Alex hard on his forearms.  
“Please tell me yer will at least get some shelves?” 

Alex complained emphatically about how hurt he felt at her suggestion that he wouldn’t know when shelves were needed. She relented and begun making cups of coffee as they waited for Oliver and Alex’s dad to bring the rest of the boxes.  
____

“That’s all of it then.” His dad said between sips of coffee. “Me little boy has moved out fer good.”  
There was a solemn lull in conversation before he asked.  
“What exactly do ya do in gov’ment Ollie?”

“Department of Social Affairs, err- policy...” He scrunched up his face awkwardly “Organising press events...”

“So yer can’t fix me pension?”

Oliver looked up confusedly.  
“Errr- no I-.”

“‘Cause that thing’s fucked.” He grumbled.

“Just smile and nod at ‘im love.” His mum patted Oliver’s arm. “Every man ‘an ‘is dog has to hear about ‘is bloody pension.”

After some admittedly tedious conversation about pensions that seemed to go on only so that his parents could stay a little longer, Alex finally managed to usher them out of the flat.

“I’ll leave yer to unpack.”  
“Don’t forget to call us love!”  
“Ter-ra, I won’t!”  
“Bye Oliver love.”  
“Goodbye Mr and Mrs Nickleson.”  
“Look after ‘im for us.”  
“BYE MUM.”  
Alex closed the door firmly and turned to Oliver, who had a smug look on his face. 

“I’m looking after you.” He turned up the smug by 20%. 

“Yeah well ya can start doing tha’ by orderin’ a bookshelf, I’m fixing up me room.”

“Are you paying for the bookshelf?” He called after Alex, but got no response.  
_____

By the time he felt satisfied with his room it was getting late and he was tired.  
A ‘knock knock’ came at his door.  
“Come in.”

Oliver opened the door by a sliver, “I’m ordering takeaway now...”

“Yeah alright then.” He popped off the bed to head for the living area. 

They sat down at the two ends of the sofa and Oliver pulled out a some menus from underneath a whole new collection of newspapers. Alex thought that he must get through a lot of paper waste, maybe he actually saved them, definitely something to be check out. Alex enthusiastically pointed at the Chinese takeaway option, Oliver shook his head then showed him a different Chinese menu.  
“That place is actually, shit.” He went up to throw the menu in the bin as Alex called the other restaurant and ordered a healthy amount before handing it to Oliver who had come to stand behind the sofa. 

When the food arrived Oliver seemed to know the delivery girl (Anne) too well to have not got her number, so Alex introduced himself politely and asked for it. She smiled knowingly; “You can go straight on the website and it’s at the top.”

“But wha’ if we need to check on yer specific delivery time? Ya might get stuck in traffic.” Oliver was looking near to mortified at the situation, he hurried off back into the building with all their food and handed Alex the money.

“Are you asking me out, for him? I have a boyfriend. Sorry?” 

“You and ya boyfriend can come get drinks with us, Ollie mentioned you was nice (false) and I need some mates round ‘ere (true).”

“Oliver remembers me? How sweet.” She gave it a little thought, then wrote her number on the back of the receipt as he handed over the money. 

“I don’t usually do this.” She huffed.

“I’ll only be a little bit hurt if ya stick us up.” He made a pretend sad face.

“Okay give me a text Alex!” She waved goodbye and he applauded himself for great social navigation. Wasn’t Oliver in Social Affairs? He should’ve been better at that sort of thing.

Back in the flat there was a sulking man eating Chinese noodles (Oliver), he was upset that Alex had asked for Anne’s number, he had mixed emotions on him getting it, then further mixed emotions on finding out about her boyfriend.

“I didn’t get her number to sleep with her.” Alex clarified.  
Oliver looked unconvinced.  
“I wanted to get ya some friends.” 

He went straight into sulking again.  
“I don’t appreciate you fiddling with my personal life.”

“Whoah!” Alex chuckled nervously. “I have her number and when I go to the bar with Anne and her boyfriend you GET to come with me and make friends.”

“Fine, that settles it. I’m not paying for the bookcase.”  
________


	3. The Book of Homophobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boredom, marvel films and crying. RegB come backs again with a classic. There is mentions of homophobic abuse and use of slurs in this one.

Waking up to rain was one of the highlights of Oliver’s life. The way is sounded, the steady ‘tsssshhhh’ and ‘pit pat’ as it hit the window, gutter and pavement lulled him to consciousness. It left the air feeling crisp and bright, the sense of refreshment that advertisers failed to capture with just images and sound. Red digits flashed at him; “10:04.” He sat up awhile in bed with a strange sensation in his stomach which he couldn’t place until his ears focused on the sound of his tv playing very quietly.   
Yes. New roommate. Brown hair. Alex.

Oliver finally managed to amble into the living area and received a groggy;  
“Mornin’” which he halfheartedly ‘mmm’ed to in response. With the coffee machine on he could see that Alex was watching some programme about...? Finding rubbish, or antiques? But they were American. They kept getting excited about motorbikes. 

“Do you mind just putting the radio on?” 

“Yep, sure, eeeer? Heart?”

“Mmmmm. (Definitely) no. BBC Radio 4.”

“Talkio.” Alex murmured.

Who the fuck calls talk radio ‘talkio’?   
Alex seemed uninterested in the ‘comedy’ drama and was flicking through his phone absently, having already connected himself up to the WiFi.

Later on Alex got changed and announced he was going to the gym, then making dinner, he winked;  
“Text me what yer fancy, apart from me of course.”

“God, say anything like that again and Id ‘quite fancy’ kicking you out.”

“Oohaaah fighting like a real couple!” Oliver glared at him. “Alright I’ll quit I’ll quit.” He held his hands up.

Alex had swapped his usual trendy-casual attire of soft t-shirts and stylish jeans or joggers to a black vest top, some mid-thigh length shorts and a pair of goofy looking expensive running shoes with ‘NIKE’ printed on the side in neon orange. His hair hadn’t been styled and was twisting about in an oddly crumpled way. Ollie was starting to wonder what his face would look like without a beard when he was roused from his thoughts by his (personal) phone making a ‘ting!’ sound, a message from Alex simply said;  
“Think of dinner.” 

He replied “Shepard’s pie?”

“Ting!”  
“Blue sky at night.”

Oliver had taken to that inane sense of humour far too quickly for his own liking. He chuckled despite that one barely being a joke.  
__________

Most of his day off consisted of watching tv, documentaries were his preferred genre, before getting a government job he had watched TV dramas more often, now he just couldn’t concentrate on them without it relating too closely to his own life. Blue Planet was a classic. Fish, fish, plant, not plant things, David Attenborough’s voice was so soothing...

“OLLIE!”

Muffled sounds of clanging and banging indicated that Alex was back with shopping and required assistance getting them into the flat. Shuffling over into the hall there was a bloody great load of supplies, he grabbed one shopping bag and hauled it into the kitchen. Alex was grumbling about how he was tired from actually doing something and not being a slob, Oliver affirmed Alex’s point by collapsing back onto the sofa and ignoring the increasing volume of his perceived anguish.

“One bag! One! Ungrateful git!”

Oliver replied, “Not my fault you’re training yourself for the strongman olympics.”

“That’s not even banter mate, you’re just complimentin’ my fitness!”

He shrugged “I’m not paid to be devastatingly witty.”

“And ya never will be!”

________

Shepard’s pie had been a good choice, Alex had convinced him to watch a film (Predator) and was currently laughing hysterically at Arnold Schwarzenegger diving into mud. Although delicious it was giving him memories of dinner at his grandparents house, which he tried not to think back on, so he focused his attention on the film. The hilarity came from its failed attempt to be serious, which he also found funny when it happened to anyone he had a general distaste, animosity for, or superiority over. Alex asked him if he’d ever seen it before.

“Yes.”

“Whaaat?” He said with disbelief.

“You think because I went to Cambridge that I don’t even know what Predator is, don’t you?”

“Yeah?”

“So you must be under the impression that I snort cocaine, fuck farmyard animals and I have inherited a million pounds and an estate.”

“Oh no I don’t think that highly of ya.”

“Naturally.”

There was a lull in the conversation as they carried on watching the film.

“Would ya... Like to binge the marvel films, gonna have the last one soon ain’t they?”

Ollie did an impression of him; “Yeah sound mate, get me relatin’ to the peepul innit.”

He got a hard shove for that, which resulted in Ollie giggling, then Alex was giggling and plans were made to watch both the shite and saints of the Marvel franchise over the course of the next few weeks.  
__________

This had been a good plan in hindsight. Malcolm’s fear instilling take-downs seemed far and few in number, there was no controversy, no coverups, mistakes, failures, or emergencies. It was a shock in his system and he returned from work early and starting to get bored out of his mind.

It was driving him crazy, or making him realise he was crazy. The only respite was actually his roommate who always provided light jibes and never shut up when a film was shit, but always allowed time to enjoy the good ones, or just the good bits. Alex was nice and it was beyond the worst thing imaginable. Ollie could feel his breakdown nearing and Alex was being nice, Alex was always at home, or returning from somewhere where he had picked something up for him; “I got ya some Mars Bars.”  
“Here’s that Independent.”  
“Saw yer brolly broke.”

It was relatively peaceful at work, his roommate was delightful and all he could feel like was utter shit. It was going happen, his break down, any one of his personal issues could be pulled out and just like the children’s game of Kerplunk, all his marbles were going to drop out.

God picked a dreary Thursday for it to occur, a few weeks after Alex had moved in. He had fully marked his territory by buying a bookcase and putting family pictures up on it alongside his surprisingly academic literature. Alex never kept quiet about which of the male cast he found fuck-able;  
“Tom Holland is cute though, not to sound like a complete faggot, but I’d do him.”

“You’d ‘do’ him? What up his arse?” Ollie smirked.

“You don’t just ‘see hole’ ‘insert penis’!” Alex seemed quite abash, or offended.

“But you see him as a hole.”

“No! You’re being fucking straight.” Offended.

“I am straight.” 

“Go on, I bet there’s at least one dude ya find even just aesthetically fit- good looking even.” 

Oliver was aiming for the ‘obviously not face’ but ended up with the ‘obviously hiding the truth face’. Alex was grinning at him.

“‘Oo is it? Tell me ‘oo yer-into.”

“The more excited you get the more catastrophic your pronunciation becomes.”

“Oi, I pre-nun-sate perfec’ly thank you very muchly!” 

Ollie wouldn’t mark himself as homophobic, but working in Westminster the opportunity occurred more than it should to use any branch of ‘gay’ as an insulting jab, which he wasn’t unused to seeing in his direction. He had come to the conclusion 8 years previous; When Ollie had been viciously shoved and kicked against an abrasive brick wall for having a crush on Neil Hick’s in his Geography class. In their words “Ollie was being a pervert nonce Sir.” That it was best if he just ignored that part, that bit, those feelings, regardless of how much they would haunt him in the lull hours at the end of the day.

“Ay ya dun have to, just curious is all, like I ain’t tryna... I dunno.” Alex shrugged.

“You have an outstanding way with words tonight.” 

This could be good, Alex was fun, matey yet also... Gay? He called himself a faggot and Oliver hadn’t even heard Malcom say that. It made Oliver trust him with his maybe a secret not secret/ thing that was not bad but humiliating and destroying him inside but not a big deal, deal.

Just before Alex could retort, Oliver cleared his throat; “I suppose...” He tried to act nonchalant, being faggy was popular these days ‘the new hip fad’ is what he heard in Glens’ voice. “The Black Panther guy?”

Alex opened his eye wide with shock, as if someone had slapped him right across the face, he regained brain function quickly, but Oliver had definitely not missed that look. 

“Chadwick B...? Bosmon? Besmen?”   
Oliver was struggling to meet his gaze as he lost track on his reasoning for breaking the 8 year oath of secrecy. His face was going red, yep, definitely humiliated right now. He shouldn’t be, it was fine, it was fine, it was fine. Crying? Yes he was crying a little bit now. Ollie was being emotional about something so highly insignificant.

“Whoah.” Alex grabbed the remote and paused the current boring superhero film. Then he put his hand on Oliver’s arm, comfortingly, like a normal human would. Of course he had to have an extreme adverse reaction to the nice gesture. Oliver winced and shook his hand off, he was getting into a spiral, and his nice new flatmate was witnessing it, perfect, wonderful. He blamed work, too quiet, thinking time was bad.

“Hey hey, no need to get upset. Talk to me?”

“Right.” Oliver was in a state. What was happening to him? He felt like the entire part of his brain responsible for all acceptable social interaction had melted and left him dribbling.

Ollie tried to explain that he was stressed, or had Stockholm syndrome to stress. He had been utterly fine, and now he wasn’t, but he would be fine again.

Alex did his typically pleasant shtick and invited him out to have drinks with himself, Anne and her boyfriend without even thinking about it. 

“I don’t want sympathy drinks.”

“You’re in tears mate... You need a drink.”

“I’m not ‘in tears’.” Ollie felt a little bitter about that.

Alex moved in to being comforting again. “Look I can’t tell you what to do in your personal life but...”

“You’re saying I shouldn’t be crying over Black Panther? I thought everyone does that.” He huffed, feeling more annoyed than upset.

“Obviously yer not crying over Black Panther ya complete tosser. I was gonna to invite ya out for drinks anyway, ya social life scares me.”

“In what capacity?”   
So Alex was just? Avoiding the glaringly obvious topic of discussion? He was some sort of deranged saint for sure, or an evil genius mastermind of conversation.

“The fact yer dun have one.” He winked, got off the sofa and made a quick move of squeezing his shoulder as he went past.

Ollie could mark that down as one of his least bad cries of the decade.


End file.
